


Left in the Mud

by Raisans_Grapeon



Category: Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: After Lewis is no longer a murdering boy, Aftermath, Arthur and Mystery is best Brotp, But finally sleep, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Give Arthur a Southern Accent Gosh Dangit, Insomnia, Mention of Possesion, Mystery-Centric, Not really graphic, Post-Cave, Regret, but just to be safe, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 01:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisans_Grapeon/pseuds/Raisans_Grapeon
Summary: Deep inside, he knew he did the right thing. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less.





	Left in the Mud

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I appreciate you taking interest in my work and I aim to satisfy.   
> That being said, I am by no means a professional, or an official English major. I am just a random dude on the internet writing stories. Any and all constructive criticism is appreciated, and encouraged. I want to get better, and some direction in areas, such as where I am succeeding or were I am lacking would do a great deal of help.   
> Comments in general help a lot.
> 
> On a separate note,  
> I am not from the South, I'm from the South West and was raised in the suburbs. I do not speak in a Southern accent and I don't fully grasp it without being terribly offensive. I tried my best with writing the accent with a tad bit of help from a friend of mine from discord who wrote out a sentence in a Southern style. One sentence. It's not perfect and I do not aim to insult in any way. Sorry.  
> But Arthur deserves that Southern accent god damnit.

Night’s cool breath sneaked it’s way into a manor that was steeped in the darkness. Open windows shuddered and the floor groaned and creaked from the outside chill, leaving the whole house in unrest. Little light was cast upon the living room inside, hiding much of the furniture in shadow. Only a couch and coffee table were illuminated by the spotlight of the window, shadows dancing across the room from the droplets of water that clung to the window. The open window let in the noises that came from the surrounding forest. The Texas winter did little to hush the crickets outside as they haphazardly chirped, their voices falling upon the damp air, carried by the wind to no one. Bare trees litter the sides of a dirt road that was no longer traveled. Clouds veiled the sky, calmer than they had been earlier during daylight, when they dumped themselves onto the land, muddying the road. No moon could be seen, and only a star or two could peek their way through the blanket of black, rolling clouds. Down below, on the muddy, abandoned road, puddles had formed. Every once in a while, a bug might skuttle by, never catching it’s reflection in the water. So the surface was undisturbed, reflecting the silent turmoil in the sky with terrifying accuracy. Not a ripple dare let the image waver. It was as if there were holes in the muddy road, that lead to nowhere. With how many there were, it seemed so easy to fall.

Within the manor, a soft step fell upon resting ears, followed by another. Each step was accompanied by the scrape of claws on old wood. The steps were deliberate, and careful, placed strategically on the floorboards, sure of where they could get off without making a single creak. It creeped down a hall, slowly sauntering down on all fours. It approached a balcony that lay at the end of the hall, overlooking a foyer. A large, dark, metal chandelier hung above the grand carpeted flooring, each candle placed in the holders worn and melted, but unlit. Two separate staircases curved down to the bottom on either side, only to end up in the same place. What little light that streamed through the front door window hit white fur, and bounced off yellow glasses that were set upon a muzzle. The further out it creeped, the more defined the shape became, pulling Mystery into light. His reddened eyes darted across the room from his high perch on the balcony, seeing if he could spot any other figures that might be lurking in the night. He more so kept an eye out for a certain orange kit of his, that had a nasty tendency to stay up all night due to the force of habit. When he was sure the only thing he could see were the drops of water slipping down the window panes, Mystery continued forward, his caution never wavering. He stopped at the railing of the balcony, contemplating which way to go, despite the insignificance it held. He pulled to the right, and descended slowly so he didn’t tumble down the stairs.

At the bottom, Mystery observed his options. To his right was a doorway to the living room, little light from the bay window on the front most wall hitting the couch and coffee table. The lighting in the room was a cool blue, and a stray window was left open, the breeze coaxing a whine form the hinges with each blow. To his left was another doorway that instead opened up into the kitchen. A beam of light bounced off the granite countertop, and the tiling on the floor shimmered. Behind the dog, the foyer extended in to where the balcony was, the wall there having a shut, double door poised in the center. To each side of the door, there were small side tables that were adorned with marigolds, their striking orange and yellow dulled and washed out without the moonlight. The doors were most certainly locked, as the manifester of the house had kept that specific hall of rooms to be his personal area. It didn’t take long for Mystery to weigh his options before turning into the living room. He didn’t have a craving for food. There was something else that gnawed at his belly, and the cushions on the loveseat were a much better cure for his particular pain. Mystery padded in, eyes trying to focus on the loveseat that was cast into shadow. He huffed, hind legs bunching up to put more power into a spring that should send the white dog right into the soft fabric and padding. He pushed off, landing predictably onto the couch with a light huff of effort. His small tail swished as if to try to keep balance. Once he was sure that he was secure on the loveseat, Mystery rested himself on the short-haired velvet, and yarn pillow cases. He rested his muzzle on his forepaws, eyes downcast as he set out to do what he came downstairs to do. Thinking, and the gods knew there was a hell of a lot for Mystery to think about. It was almost daunting.

Mystery let his mind drift, letting the subjects come to mind naturally. He let his eyes slide shut and just listen. His ear flicked at the sound of a water droplet hitting the ground. Crickets hummed a melancholic tune. The atmosphere was set, and the dreary, depressing night urged on his first thought. Where he was, where they all were. His kits, people who he called family, were stuck ankle deep in an emotional mess. It sullied their shoes, and the muddied feelings about all of them, Mystery included, left them unable to trudge out. Mystery’s eyebrows furrowed. Life could never return to the way it was. What they all endured could not be washed out. Arthur lost some of the joking bite in his tone, replaced by an uneasy defensive line. Vivi’s headstrong attitude and impulsiveness was curbed, and she doubted her every move. Lewis’ soft demeanor was morphed into minefield, where he could be sent into a rage at the drop of a hat. Mystery had found himself in the middle, in so far deep he felt like he could never claw his way out of the mess he found himself in. For years he built trust on lies like it was a stable foundation for a family. Even so, he was well aware of the repercussions he would face once they all found out that he had been playing them all for a fool. The gang would never trust him again, and that thought alone terrified the dog. He had known loneliness for centuries and survived, but that was all he was doing. Surviving. With Vivi, he was living. Mediocrity was peaceful, and being “just a dog” was now his top priority. He was so committed to the act, that he couldn’t possibly tear down his most excellent illusion. So committed, he got one of his own killed. 

Mystery knew what lay inside the cave that night. The low hanging, rolling smoke that poured out of the stoney mouth sent chills to all six of his tails. He should’ve said something; something to back Arthur when he suggested that they should really just go back to the hotel. But dogs don’t talk. Vivi pressed forward, and Lewis had wrapped an arm around her waist. He assured Arthur that he would be okay, and that Lewis would be there to protect him in the case that anything of actual threat to them decided to rear its ugly head. Mystery bit back a retort. Dogs don’t talk. Arthur followed close behind Lewis, holding his broad shoulders for comfort. The further in they crept, the more on edge Arthur became, and the more unsettled Mystery grew. He should’ve told them to leave. There was nothing there for them and that whatever did reside couldn’t leave without a host. Dogs don’t talk. He padded on. Vivi took the right path, calling to her pet with a whistle. He trotted up. As he neared the entrance to the right cave path, he eyed Lewis and Arthur. Smoke started to gather at Arthur’s feet. Mystery needed to yell, tell them to get out. Dogs don’t yell. A small part of him still hoped that nothing would happen. He couldn’t convince himself though. Vivi didn’t pay any mind to it when Mystery quickly cut across the fork to follow his two other kits. He stayed a good amount of tail lengths away. Just far enough so the dog could observe behind the screen of smoke. He blinked at the wrong time. It only took a second for it to take hold. He took a step out of the mist, and through the damp ground to try to stop the heinous crime in action. Yet, he hesitated. He didn’t have the tools to do a proper exorcism, and Mystery could already tell that the demon had anchored in the mechanic’s left hand. The only way to quickly get rid of it… He blinked, and it was only the two of them on the ledge, and a demon clinging to the arm of the kitsune’s kit. A scream from below reverberated around the stone walls. It only took Mystery a fraction of a second to grasp what had happened. It took a half a second more to fully realize what he had to do next if he were to save more lives than he had already lost, and the dreaded implications. He already tipped her off, so he couldn’t stop now, and let all of this go to waste. The daylight hours of that night seemed to have melded together, time rushing itself so that it may draw out this moment for as long as it could. Every vivid detail would flash within Mystery’s mind, and the scene would play out before him like a movie. Every thought played back from a scratchy record deep in his memory. 

What was the extent of what he had to do? Would he have to kill Arthur in order to preserve himself and Vivi? How much internal damage had the demon done? Mystery felt weightless. What kind of demon was it? What was it after? Freedom? If so, it had Arthur, so what was the point of…? His true self clawed out of the illusion. Was it possible that Lewis survived? Did he miss a stalagmite? If he didn’t, could his magic still heal him if he could only pull Lewis up and get some ingredients? His paws pushed off the floor. What went wrong? Why didn’t he try harder to deter them away? Why couldn’t he see the risks sooner? Why didn’t he stop it sooner?! His jaws drew open, grasping bitter, tainted, green flesh. He could hear another scream. It was terror, grief, and pain, thrown into one guttural wail. Now, Mystery could feel the demon’s presence. It was reaching out to the rest of the body, trying to get a better hold, but it was still anchored to the arm only. It was the base of the roots. Paws were firmly planted into the ground. His teeth bore into his kit’s arm. Black tipped tails lashed out, as his red eyes were glazed with tears. A moment’s hesitation, just in time for second thoughts to seep through. He made the mistake of looking up to Arthur’s face. It was contorted, eyes wide with abject horror. The green tint had overtaken half of his face, but the demon was terrified as well. It knew what the kitsune was going to do. Although the demon seemed more angry, Arthur was crying, and Mystery could not mistake the look of relief behind his fear. It made the kitsune want to back out entirely, but he knew that would do more harm than good. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the metallic taste in his mouth.

Mystery quickly batted himself in the muzzle, careful to mind where his glasses were. His eyebrows were knit together as he felt his fur become stickier due to the cold sweat he had ran himself into. He flicked his gaze across the room, almost frantically, absorbing his surroundings once more. He was a small white pup, with black paws, and one black tail not to mention a black and read hair-do that was done up by one of his kits. The room around him was drenched in darkness, with a blue hue to everything. The air was damp, and his mouth was moist with saliva. He let out a breath, paws pressing into velvet as the dog grounded himself again. His tired red eyes focused on his paws, blinking slowly from the exhaustion that started to weigh on his eyes. Sleep sounded great in theory, but reality left him miserably awake to think himself into circles. Mystery sat, trying to think of everything he could’ve done differently. If he wasn’t as selfish, if he was more attentive. If he was quicker, if he was smarter. If all these things were true, he could’ve saved everything. Normalcy might be better than it was now. He wouldn’t feel responsible for the worst night of his entire lifetime, not to mention the worst night in his kit’s lives. Mystery sniffed, his emotions finally spilling as the first tears slipped out from the corners of his eyes.

“Wh-who’s there? Whoever you a-are, I have a-an arm and I-I’m not afraid to use it!” 

The hushed whisper-yell reached Mystery’s ears, causing them to perk up in alarm. It was definitely Arthur. He was the only one who had the right to say he could use an arm as a weapon. Mystery sighed, only slightly disappointed that Arthur was still awake at this hour, but that was pretty hypocritical of him. He lifted his head up and over the edge of the loveseat, the red hair on the sides of his face ruffling out of place as he shifted himself about to search for his kit. It was hard to distinguish shadows from each other, but Mystery was able to catch the glint of metal in a ray of the dull outside light in the foyer. Upon further inspection, the metal was Arthur’s prosthetic, but detached and in his flesh hand. He had it raised up like a bat, nervous eyes darting back and forth to try and catch the creature that had made the noise that definitely wasn’t the house settling. The skittish man took slow steps into the living room, amber eyes immediately connecting with scarlet red ones. A tense silence hung between the two, and an unspoken fear of one another drew it out for a second too long. 

“M-m’stery… Yer up…?” Arthur’s statement morphed into a question halfway through. Each breath he took was audible.

“Yeah.” The response was unintentionally curt and dismissive, as Mystery pulled his head back down to the cushions, staring off into the black void in front of him.

Arthur’s bare feet tapped along the ground, approaching the dog fox thing. “Can’t sleep?,” he pushed on. Mystery could feel the couch sag with a new weight added. “You thinkin’?” 

Mystery really wanted to keep answering with silence, but that’s how he was going through this life, and look at where it lead him. “Yeah,” was the only response he provided. The awkwardness in the air was palpable, and the humidity wasn’t helping. Mystery could feel Arthur’s gaze set upon his black scruff, but it wasn’t an intense stare. He couldn’t feel holes being burned into his neck, rather it felt uneasy. The man was clearly expecting something. Now whether he was expecting a longer response from the group mascot, or his snapping jaws, Mystery wasn’t quite sure. Reluctantly, he stole a glance backwards. He expected eyes full of fear, like he was staring at some unspeakable, Lovecraftian horror that would eat his very soul. What the kitsune was actually met with, was concern, and disquietness. Although, a strong trepidation was obvious through subtle body language, like how Arthur still leaned away ever so slightly from the small dog, or how he gripped his metallic arm so tightly that the prosthetic quaked with his hand. He was shaken just by sitting next to the beast that practically handed him the robotic arm, so why in all the worlds was he still sitting there? It baffled Mystery to the point to irritation. Shouldn’t the man be running for the hills like always? Shouldn’t he see the dog as a monster? A barbarous, bloodthirsty, beast, that only brought misfortune onto him? Why was he still here?

A light pressure on the top of his head halted Mystery’s reeling thoughts. He blinked rapidly, as if waking up for the first time, bewildered about everything. Bewildered was a good word to describe how Mystery felt at that moment. Arthur had placed his flesh hand on the top of the mascot’s head, pressing the spiked hair down so that the palm was as close to his coat as possible. Arthur looked uneasy, but determined, completed with a soft, reassuring smile. The creature could only stare up at the ginger man with wide eyes, his glasses doing a poor job of covering them. After only a few short seconds, the mechanic took the lack of protest as an invitation to proceed. He dragged his hand across the top of Mystery’s head, ruffling his black fur. The feeling was refreshing, and nostalgic, causing Mystery’s eyes to blissfully slide shut. Moments like this existed ages ago. Times when no one knew, and Mystery was just a dog. He couldn’t help himself as he raised his head up into the touch, his tail beating the couch rhythmically. His ears could pick up a nearly inaudible chuckle from the only other soul in the room with him. It signaled the end of the moment, as Arthur’s hand pulled away, and retreated back into his lap, with the lip prosthetic. The dog blinked his eyes open, looking up at his kit with doe eyes. He only smiled a smile that radiated warmth, and prodded again. “What’s got you up so late, fella?” Arthur really was pulling all the stops out tonight when it came to old ways that made the ancient entity reminisce.

Mystery let out a soft, resigned breath, accepting the fact that he was going to have to talk this out with Arthur. His head hung low as he started. “Just… thoughts… memories… regrets.” His last word came out with a huff, the small, white dog repositioning himself so that he faced Arthur. The man said nothing. “I’m positive you can relate on the note that I think back to… that night,” he spat with clear scorn in his voice, “often. I think of every way it could’ve gone differently. I think of all the moments I could’ve said something…!” His voice started to strain as the very thoughts he talked about marched forward. “I should’ve told Vivi to turn back. I should’ve convinced them both that it was a dangerous gamble.” His head tilted up to stare at Arthur dead in the eyes. Mystery could feel a burn out on the edges of his eyes. “I should’ve supported you. B-but I didn’t. I cared so much about how I looked to you guys. I was so focused on this… this FUCKING charade I had going that I let Lewis die before I gave it up!,” he barked, his inflection cynical and hyper critical, and his volume almost reaching an enraged yowl. His claws dug into a pillow, the fox focusing on his black paws rather than the man in front of him. “This damned body was so important… I was so selfish…” A low growl rumbled deep in Mystery’s chest, his aggravated body pushing and threatening to burst free of the illusion just to let out some of the loathing that he felt towards himself. 

A light stammer drew Mystery’s attention once again to his kit that sat on the same couch as him. Arthur was now pressing himself against the velvet couch, and his only hand gripping his connection port tightly. Now the kitsune was sure that his true form had started to push though. Yet, Arthur spoke with a wavering voice, “M-M’stry… fella this shit ain’t yer fault.”

Mystery let out a dry chortle at the hypocrisy. “Kettle, the pot called.”

Arthur snickered, this one a bit louder. “That’s beside ta’h point and ya know it.” His smile lingered for a second longer before the man resorted to a more somber look. “I know I shouldn’ have any right ta’h say anythin’ on this subject… but… I can try sure as hell.” He resituated himself, clearing out a nonexistent lump in his throat. “We could’ah all done somethin’ to change what happened down in there. But… ta’h way it happened… Ya did all ya could’ah. E’rethin’ happened so fast.” Arthur’s eyes focused on his detached arm, clearly recalling the events that lead up to such a creation. “M’stakes were made. On all of us. B-but… I-I’m glad you were there. I-I jus-st know… ya got there as soon as ya could’ah..” Arthur fumbled with his words, but the meaning behind them were not lost to Mystery. He really was just saying, “I killed Lewis, not you,” and “I care about your well being so don’t be sad.” They had all been together long enough to be able to decipher each others dialogue. 

Mystery pulled his rationality back together, assuring himself that he was of reasonable dog size. With only a moments hesitance, he leaned his head forward and nuzzled Arthur’s chest to try to show gratitude with no words. “I appreciate the words, Arthur.” A hand rested on Mystery’s back and began stroking the short fur. Once again, Mystery’s tail beat the couch.

“Any time, fella.” Mystery didn’t need to look up to know that Arthur had a genuine smile on his thin, tired face. 

The two slipped into a content slumber on the couch, Arthur’s hand rested loosely on the dog’s back. The night passed without a word spoken, or haunting creak muttered. The moment shared between two friends hung unbroken through a tranquil night, encasing them in a bubble that detached them from all the atrocities from nights past. Their breaths were in time, and the cricket’s chorus outside played along. Not even sunrise got either to sturr from sleep, so wrapped in dreamless comfort. The clouds had long since departed, and left the sun to break over the twisted tree line, casting a rosey sunrise pallet across a brightening sky. Golden rays just started to cut through the living room where Arthur and Mystery slept, illuminating dust that drifted through the air. The room was warm, the deep purples and desaturated magentas popping out of the darkness that persisted throughout the night. A strip of sunlight hit the star pin attached to the mechanic’s tangerine orange vest, the glossy coat on the pin reflecting the light brilliantly across the room and onto an adjacent wall. Arthur’s body shielded the dog under his flesh arm from any invading and disturbing rays that might wake him. The open window brought the musty smell of wet foliage and mud.

Stairs groaned as another rose with the morning sun. Such steps were carelessly placed, and dragged across wood and carpet alike. “M’str’...?” The word was caught at the end of a yawn as Vivi called out softly for her dog. He wasn’t in her room when she woke up, and the door was wide open. Her investigator senses had switched on and she had pulled herself out of bed without so much as a morning stretch. The bluenett reared to call again, louder this time, but stopped herself when she caught sight of a head of yellow-orange hair poking out from behind the dark velvet loveseat. Vivi recognized it as Arthur’s hair, realizing that the nerd probably was hit with his developed insomnia , and was tinkering with something in front of him. The investigator walked around the couch to face Arthur and hear his excuses as to why he was up all night again, but she got nothing. It came as quite a surprise to her when she saw Arthur’s bruised eyes closed softly, not screwed shut. His body was lax, not trembling. Not only that, but under his only attached arm, lay Vivi’s very own dog, glasses askew on his muzzle and spiky hairdo ruffled and ruined. His wet, black nose was pressed into Arthur’s white T-shirt, flaring regularly in unison with the mechanic’s own breathing. A large smile spread across the girl’s face, showing off her dimples. Silently, she turned away, exiting the room and leaving the two to sleep through the morning. Across the foyer she walked, hearing the scrape of metal and the echoing of a ghostly hum.


End file.
